


Together

by HitanTenshi



Series: Solavellan Short Stories [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-01-21
Packaged: 2019-10-13 16:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17491283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HitanTenshi/pseuds/HitanTenshi
Summary: Communication has never been Zeale's forte, but, thanks to a budding romance with Solas, it becomes necessary.





	Together

**Author's Note:**

> I've now played all three DA games and will probably be producing little fics regularly as I process and fill in gaps with my imagination. My Inquisitor, Zeale Lavellan, is aggressive and blunt. (Granted, during gameplay I often caved and let her reply more softly because I the player was unable to stick to my guns and make her as acerbic as I imagine her. I therefore constructed the idea of her having a NPC twin brother, Evindal, who travels with her and ameliorates her dealings with others by providing a voice of reason/gentleness. I may do a separate play-through as him just to feel out his possible romance options — the primary candidate rn is Bull.)
> 
> Being around Solas challenges Zeale's presuppositions about her Dalish heritage, and somewhere in the wrestling match of many conversations, romance blossoms. I wrote this piece to deal with Solas's romance being much less… intimately involved than I was expecting based on what I knew of other romance paths. My theory is that he is holding back because he knows he will leave, but he plays it off as just being ace — though he may very well also be on the spectrum! His resistance to intimacy is difficult for Zeale, coming from a community where relationships are meant to lead to procreation to increase the Dalish population.

“Solas.”

He doesn’t look up from the scroll he’s pouring over, but a certain tilt of his head indicates he’s listening.

“Do you…” Zeale wishes she could express this better. Stabbing comes more easily to her than speaking. “...want to be together?”

Solas does look up then, a quizzical wrinkle between his brows.

“In what way?”

A pair of awkward ducklings, they are — not sure which way is up in this pond neither has dared explore before now. Before this. Them.

That embarrassment eggs Zeale to jab, “You have a brain. Think about it.”

He focuses, looks her in the eye for just long enough that his comprehension makes both of them blush.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” she echoes, with the necessary amount of sarcasm to darken the pink across Solas’s face.

“Are you referring to the way there is now a constant danger of walking into a broom closet and finding The Iron Bull and your brother engaged in an act of passion?”

That may be the most scholarly way Zeale has heard anyone talk about sex, but it’s a step in the right direction for the conversation.

“Maybe.”

Solas actually puts a hand in front of his face, as if that can hide the fact that his ears are now red from lobe to pointy tip.

“Um… Personally, I do not wish… to jeopardize the sanctity of broom closets.”

Though watching Solas fumble with words has its attractive qualities, his skirting around the heart of the matter shortens Zeale’s patience. “There are things called bedrooms.”

Solas only gives a begrudging nod to that fact.

She doesn’t want to push too hard, to push him away, but she continues. “It’s just… we never talk about these things. About what we… want.”

He stands, stalls by adjusting his tunic, steps around his table heaped with manuscripts to approach her.

“And… what do you want, vhenan?” he asks in his softest, sweetest voice, barely above a whisper.

Zeale has her answer ready this time. “I want to be with you.”

For a fraction of an instant, a pained look darts behind Solas’s eyes, disappearing as soon as Zeale tries to catch it. He then cups her hands in his.

“Are you not with me now?”

Zeale takes a deep breath, counting to ten internally. “...To an extent.”

“And… this extent is not enough for you?”

“Would a further extent be too much for you?” she counters, fighting hard to keep her tone even.

Solas offers a ghost of a smile, rubbing the backs of her hands with his thumbs. “I am… an intellectual romantic first, I suppose.”

But first doesn’t mean only. With great strength of will, Zeale waits for him to continue.

“It’s not the right time. For me. I… apologize. At present, I cannot give what you want.”

Thank the gods of old that Zeale has eavesdropped on enough of Dorian and Evindal’s conversations to have some grasp of the breadth of sexuality.

“You don’t need to apologize for that,” she therefore chooses to reply. “Every… Everyone’s different. If you can’t, then that’s… that’s all right.” But hope nudges her to addend: “Is there a chance that a right time could come?”

Vulnerable eyes locked with hers, Solas answers, “I don’t know.”

Zeale nods, as much to convince herself as to acknowledge Solas’s honesty.

“I’ll… try to pay more attention,” she finds herself saying, if only because silence would threaten to make her implode. “If intellectual romance is what you’re comfortable with, then… I’ll have to be careful not to miss anything.”

Solas squeezes her hands lightly, cradling them to his chest. “I appreciate your understanding.”

It’s hard not to choke on lingering disappointment. “Is it… Would it be all right for me to… from time to time… kiss you?”

Solas answers with a soft press of lips to her cheek. “It would be all right.”

“And… hold you?”

Solas nods, slipping his arms around her.

“And… I don’t know… dance like we did at the Winter Palace?”

With a soft smile, Solas pulls her toward him, leading into a slow sway reminiscent of a waltz. Zeale presses up onto her toes and gives him a proper kiss.

“For what it’s worth,” says Solas, “I would have no objection to your entering my dreams.”

Zeale all but snorts, in spite of herself. “From anyone else, that would sound like the complete opposite of _intellectual_ romance.”

“You did say you wanted to learn more of my travels in the Fade. Some things are better shown than told.”

She considers for a moment. There is a certain irony in the idea of sleeping together without actually sleeping together. Perhaps it says something about how strongly she cares for Solas (loves him, but she’d sooner take a knife to the gut than voice it so plainly) that she easily imagines how such a scenario might help _nurture_ the so-called right time.

Her conscience (in Evindal’s voice, as usual) quickly reminds her that the wrong motivation often brings harm. Solas is seeking his own ways to express his feelings, and Zeale would be a pretty awful person to ignore that effort by using it to try to pull him toward what _she_ wants.

If it happens, it happens. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. She turns the thought over like a chant, hoping repetition will encourage it to take root. The right thing to do is to meet Solas halfway. That’s all there is to it.

“I’d like that.”

Solas is practically beaming, a rare expression for him. Zeale tries to burn it into her memory as it lifts her spirits along with his.

“Well, if you don’t have anything pressing, there is no time like the present.”

“I think I can fit you into my busy schedule.”

Still wearing that bright smile, Solas takes one of Zeale’s hands once more and leads her from the study.


End file.
